


Always Welcome

by madwriteson



Category: The Hidden Almanac (Podcast)
Genre: Drom has ADHD, Gen, Hellebores, Humor, Post-Canon, and is unnecessarily fixated on her new beetles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:34:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28423263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madwriteson/pseuds/madwriteson
Summary: A brief conversation in a garden, after the end of it all.
Relationships: Pastor Drom & Reverend Mord (The Hidden Almanac)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	Always Welcome

“And you’re sure you’re okay with me moving in with you?”

“COULD I STOP YOU IF I WAS NOT?”

Drom considered this for a moment. “Well, no, probably not, but last time I _did_ technically own the space I was moving into. I wasn’t really moving in with you so much as taking up occupancy of my own property. As it were.”

“WELL, THEN, PERHAPS I OWE YOU A FAVOR FOR BEING SUCH AN UNDERSTANDING LANDLORD.”

“Hah! That’s a whopper and you know it, Mord.”

Mord stood up and dusted dirt off the knees of his robe. He had spent the past couple of weeks transplanting his favorite hellebores from the Hidden Almanac test garden to the garden of the little two-bedroom cottage he owned in Echo Harbor, sending up fervent prayers to the Madonna of the Leaves and any other Saints that might be listening in the hope that it would help them thrive in their new location.

As far as Drom could tell, hellebores would thrive or not thrive where you planted them based entirely on whim and chance, but she supposed that the prayers couldn’t hurt. She was sending up a few prayers about thriving of her own these days. Not that she _minded_ not being dead, but the beetles couldn’t _possibly_ be good for one’s digestion. Assuming she digested things the usual way anymore. She couldn’t quite tell.

Tequila didn’t quite have the same effect on her as it had once had, though, so she suspected something… beetle-y was going on down there. Or possibly leaf-y. She hadn’t quite decided which part of her new anatomy to blame for it.

She realized with a guilty start that Mord was talking and probably had been for a good minute, and tuned back in just in time to hear him say “AND YOU ARE NOT LISTENING TO A WORD I AM SAYING, ARE YOU, DROM.”

“I was thinking about beetles.”

Mord heaved one of his theatrical exasperated sighs. She really did appreciate the effort involved in them a lot more now than she previously had; these days, if she stopped thinking about it, breathing just… didn’t happen. “IS THIS GOING TO HAPPEN OFTEN?”

“Probably?” she ventured. “I mean, when they were just _your_ beetles, I had all _kinds_ of questions about them—“

“I REMEMBER,” Mord intoned dolefully.

“—but now they’re _my_ beetles too. A woman has a right to know about the details of her own anatomy!”

“ARE YOU DONE?”

“Oh, probably. Possibly. For now, at least.”

“GOOD.” Another of those long-suffering sighs escaped from under his mask. “LET ME PUT IT THIS WAY. I HAVE BECOME ACCUSTOMED TO YOUR PESTERING, DROM. AND I WOULD FIND MYSELF… AT LOOSE ENDS WITHOUT YOU.”

“Aw.”

“AND AS YOU HAVE BEEN LIVING IN MY SPARE BEDROOM FOR THE PAST WEEK AND A HALF ANYWAY, I AM NOT CERTAIN WHY THIS IS A TOPIC OF CONVERSATION YOU FELT YOU NEEDED TO REVISIT.”

“Oh, you know.” She worried at the sleeve of her robe. “I just wanted to be certain. That you still wanted me here, that is. I know I can be...”

“ANNOYING?”

“I was going to say strong-willed,” Drom said with a superior little sniff.

“THAT MUCH IS TRUE.” And suddenly, something unprecedented happened.

Drom glared suspiciously down at her hand, worried it was a hallucination, probably brought on by some equally unprecedented beetle-and-tequila interaction. But no, there was Mord’s gloved hand, wrapped firmly around hers.

“I WILL SAY IT AGAIN, AS YOU WERE NOT PAYING ATTENTION THE FIRST TIME,” Mord said, sounding serious even for him. “YOU WILL ALWAYS BE WELCOME HERE, DROM.” He gave her hand another firm squeeze, kind and comforting.

And then he dropped it and went back to fussing over his hellebores.


End file.
